


Facts

by missingnolovefic



Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Whump, woody whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: This is a fact: Woody is stupid. This is also a fact: People expect him to be smart now. This is another fact: Woody hates to disappoint people.AKA Woody has a hard time adjusting in the aftermath, and being kidnapped isn't supposed to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dave ([tumblr](http://davidelizabethbowiestrider.tumblr.com), [Ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberzillaRex/pseuds/Turntechgodliness)) for the beta and encouragement <3
> 
> written for LT weekly challenge, prompt: Captured

This is a fact: Woody is stupid.

He’s always been stupid, and the Hermetic Enhanced Learning Module Enthetic Technology doesn’t change that. It’s far more advanced than anything else on Earth, but it doesn’t change who he is. Just… adds to it.

 

This is also a fact: People expect him to be smart now.

He’s not, though. He tries, he really does, and for a short while it works. His head is full of scientific principles and calculations, prompted by verbal cues and random thoughts. As long as he spews fact after fact after fact, others don’t tend to notice.

 

This is another fact: Woody hates to disappoint people.

All his life he’s been a disappointment. His mother wanted him to go to college; instead he dropped out of high school. His father wanted him to be strong, a fighter. A ‘real’ man. But Woody is clumsy and shy and doesn’t dare stand up for himself.

 

This is a fact: Woody is stupid.

After they defeated the Worg, he expected them to be a team now. They’d finally learned to work together and were getting along so much better. Hagan and Herman had made up, and Zach had smiled at him as they won.

For once, he felt like a part of something.

At first it goes like he expects: DETIA shows up in the aftermath and rounds them up. They get separated for the debrief, and the Helmet knows it’s the best way for their memories to remain uninfluenced by the others’ perspectives, even if Woody doesn’t understand.

 

This is also a fact: People expect him to be smart now.

They keep calling him back in again and again for days, having him repeat over and over what happened in detail, before they interrogate him about the suit’s functions and other alien technology. Woody tells them what he knows, even as he doesn’t understand a word he says.

(The dictionary definitions keep popping up on his visor, making it hard to concentrate.)

At first he believes his teammates are going through the same process. But after not hearing from them in three days, not even from Herman, Woody’s getting worried. So he asks Colonel Emory, who gives him an unreadable look. As it turns out, Zach has left to party after the initial debrief, Hagan went to check in with his daughter and clear things up with his ex-wife and Herman... Herman’s been hopping from talk show to interview to radio show.

 

This is another fact: Woody hates to disappoint people.

They left him behind without a word, and all Woody feels is resignation. He’s used to people leaving by now, always disappointing those close to him, and why should they stay? He has nothing to offer them, he knows.

The scientists still have yet to figure this out themselves, even as Woody half-heartedly wishes they would just realize it already. But at the same time he’s afraid, because if they don’t need him anymore, who does? Once they figure it out, he’ll be on his own again, alone like he was before he met Herman. Herman doesn’t need him, not anymore, and maybe it’s better he left before Woody could disappoint him, too.

(There was a time when he stupidly thought he couldn’t ever disappoint Herman because Herman took him and his antics in stride. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was a distraction. The Helmet gives him a psychoanalysis of Herman’s behavior and his past injury followed immediately by human anatomy, and Woody closes his eyes because he _can’t_.)

The scientists keep pestering him, demanding explanations and theories, and Woody’s head is aching as he spews fact after fact after fact and hopes that they won’t notice. They ask him to explain a phrase, and he gives them the dictionary definitions of each single word, and it’s as frustrating for him as it’s for them. Because Woody _knows_ but he doesn’t _understand_ , and he blinks up at them with wide eyes.

 

This is another fact: Woody hates to disappoint people.

It takes them a while to clue on, but at some point the questions peter out, the sessions grow shorter and shorter until they finally stop asking him to come in. He knew it would happen eventually, but it still aches. It had felt good to be needed, for once. To be useful.

(Part of a team. Part of _something_.)

He stays in his room, waiting for further instructions as he enjoys his break. The days pass by, and no one comes to fetch him. He wonders how the others are doing. For a moment he considers calling Herman, the Helmet already dialing his number as the thought pops into his head, and he has to hurry to cancel the call before-

Woody doesn’t want to be a bother, and the others don’t need him.

(No one really does.)

This is also a fact: People expect him to be smart now.

Except he isn’t, and he’s done with trying to meet their expectations, pretending to be more than he is. This wasn’t his choice, and for all that he enjoyed it for a while, he just wants to be himself for once. So he leaves in the middle of the night, bypassing security with ease (because the Helmet knows and because the Helmet knows Woody knows even when he doesn’t, not really.)

Because sounding smart isn’t the same as being smart, and even he noticed by now.

Woody vanishes into the night without a word, without a trace. The trees loom high into the dark sky, and he can’t see his own hands, so the Helmet activates night vision mode and everything turns green and surreal. He feels surreal, unreal, ever since this whole thing started. No one used to expect anything from him, and now they expect everything, and Woody just needs some room to _breathe._

(Better to be alone somewhere lonely than to be alone amongst people.)

The smart thing to do would be to contact Emory, or one of his teammates. Let someone know where he’s going, what he’s doing. Let them know how he’s doing, where his head’s at. Ask for help. They expect him to think smart now and somehow that includes acting responsible, and he doesn’t get it.

He’s never been the responsible one.

 This is a fact: Woody is stupid.

He walks through the woods and doesn’t care to stay on any sort of path. He wanders through the trees for what feels like hours, and he has no clue where he is. He could connect with one of the many satellites, triangulate his location and call up a map, some sort of navigation app perhaps but…

He doesn’t want to.

He needs to lose himself, or maybe he just feels lost, like he’s missing a part of himself. He’s been pretending to be smart or others pretended for him, and he just wants to be the dumb one again. It’s stupid, and he readily acknowledges it, but then people always tell him how stupid he is. Except they don’t anymore, and how is it possible to miss something as derogatory as that?

( _derogatory (adj.) 1: detracting from the character or standing of something 2: expressive of a low opin_ \- flashes across his screen, and Woody feels like if he starts screaming now he won’t ever stop.)

He’s so busy trying to shut everything out, he doesn’t even notice them until it’s too late.

 

This is another fact: Woody hates to disappoint people.

He’s taken with embarrassing ease. One moment he’s lost in his own head, the next he’s struggling weakly, a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his shoulder (and isn’t that becoming a way too familiar feeling?), Helmet flashing warnings at him, meaningless numbers rapidly changing. Hands on his arms, and then he’s dragged away.

(He wonders if anyone will miss him.)

Woody wakes up hazily, sitting in a chair, his hands loosely tied in front of him. Immediately the Helmet analyzes the situation, the blinking lights and calculations and neuroconnective info dumb making his headache worse. Drugged, not considered a threat, dark, want something, no bullet holes, sluggish, everything is jumbled in his brain, and he can’t form a coherent thought.

Woody blinks, lifting his head slowly with a wince. The pounding in his head is subsiding, _corrective measures_ induced by the Helmet, he knows instinctively. Hormonal balance, oxygen level, blood pressure, pulse, everything is carefully regulated until he can think again.

For what that’s worth.

They don’t expect him to be awake so soon, judging by the way his guard scurries off as soon as he looks up. He’s left alone, shivering, in what appears to be a storage room. Woody blinks, and the Helmet activates the emergency beacon.

They want something from him. Information?

His captors targeted him specifically, he can safely assume. The gears in his Helmet whirr as Woody tries to connect the dots. Hagan and Zach would be able to fight them off, and Herman isn’t a slouch either, and can outrun them easily. He’s the team’s weak link. He’s the dumb one with the smart piece of the suit, but he’s just as clumsy as he was before.

They think it’s going to be easy, judging by the sloppy knot on the ropes, the fact that they _left him alone_ , more or less, now that he’s awake. His legs are free, and if the drug wears off just a tad bit more (15 minutes, 29 seconds), maybe he’d be able to walk out of here. They’re underestimating him.

They expect him to just give them what they want.

...he hates to disappoint them, truly.

This is also a fact: People expect him to be smart now.

“Mr. Johnson,” the suit says, and Woody stares at him blankly. “Thank you for your time. Now, if you cooperate, that would save all of us a lot of trouble, don’t you agree?”

Woody doesn’t reply, scanning the man’s face and trying to find a match in the vastness of the internet, at the same time switching to another setting to check his pockets. Looks like he has a mild case of arthritis, that will catch up with him soon enough. And maybe the smart thing to do here is to cooperate, to negotiate. He likely has the knowledge that they seek,  and he's on his own. He could work his way out of this, and clearly they expect him to be smart about it.

Too bad.

“Mr. Johnson,” the suit speaks up again in the same mild tone, but his brow is furrowing slightly. “You are a smart man. DETIA won’t find you in time, if they’re coming for you at all. After all,” he pauses dramatically, waiting a beat, “you’re not their first choice, are you? Let’s start with how the suit works.”

And the thing is, he’s right. But just because Woody’s the dumb one, just because he’s turned out to be useless, doesn’t mean that he is weak.

No. He will not give them that satisfaction.

(They’re not coming, he thinks with certainty, as he spouts another round of techno babble. It’s surprisingly easy to throw random science term together into grammatically correct sentences, make them chase their own tails as they try to figure out what any of it means. It’ll take them a while to catch on. Even DETIA’s specialists, who have studied the suit since before it arrived, didn’t figure it out at first, and that's when he wasn't lying through his teeth. But that’s ok. That’s perfectly fine.)

They want smart? They can have smart. It’s not his fault they don’t understand. (He doesn’t get it, either.)

 

This is a fact: Woody is stupid.

He’s full of facts these days and understands concepts on an abstract level, even as he doesn’t get it. He knows the numbers, percentages and calculations, cold facts that let him know that he’s only valuable as a source of information and for the technology attached to his head. He’s not worth a rescue, DETIA won’t come for him. They only care about retrieving his piece of the suit. It might be for the best, to let someone else, someone actually smart have the Helmet instead.

Woody didn’t expect his team to come for him.

Herman comes skidding into the room, knocking the guard over. He stops in front of Woody, hands brushing over his shoulders, concern in his eyes. Woody blinks up at him guilelessly, not sure what is happening. Hagan steps into the door, shield activated as a hail of bullets pling off it harmlessly. He looks back at them over his shoulder and sighs noisily, digging out a swiss army knife out of his jacket.

Herman flits over to him and appears in front of Woody again a second later, knife in hand. He kneels down and starts sawing off the rope tying his hands together.

“Hey buddy,” he says, and Woody tilts his head curiously. “You ok, man?”

Woody is honestly too surprised to answer, even as he opens his mouth on reflex, saying the first thing that comes to mind. Fact after fact after fact.

“The drug’s decay time is down to a minute, 16 seconds. Pulse is above average, blood sugar levels are declining, blood pressure is-”

“Alright, alright, chill,” Herman interrupts him, frowning worriedly up at him. The rope falls, and Woody awkwardly rubs at his wrists. “For real, though, you good?”

“I-” Woody starts, then stops. Herman waits for a beat, holding his gaze, and Woody’s not sure how to react. When nothing else is forthcoming, Herman nods decisively and stands up, holding out his hand.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Woody stumbles after them dazedly, Hagan covering their asses while Herman zips ahead to scout. They meet up with Zach at the next intersection, cursing up a storm and wildly shooting his lasers at Woody’s captors.

“Take that assholes!” he shouts before turning to Woody. He grabs his wrist and tugs him around the corner, shooting another beam over his shoulders. The shot goes wild, hitting a light instead and throwing them into the near dark. “Shit. You alright, man?”

Woody stares at Zach wide-eyed, nodding slowly. His Helmet activates night vision mode with barely a thought, and he twists his hand to grab Zach’s.

“This way,” he says, Helmet marking their enemies, helping Zach aim. They run and nearly collide with Herman, Hagan crashing into Zach’s back.

“Watch out, asshole,” Zach spits, squeezing Woody’s hand. Woody isn’t sure what that is about, exactly.

“Right back at you,” Hagan hisses back, and Herman sighs exasperatedly.

They get out of the facility without too many problems, all three of his teammates surrounding him, shielding him. It feels strange, after not seeing them for so long. They’ve commandeered a DETIA van, and Herman and Zach pile in on the backseat with Woody between them. Herman bumps their shoulders together, and Zach still hasn’t let go of his hand and-

Woody is confused.

“What,” he finally asks, brow furrowed. “What are you guys doing here?”

Hagan gives him an assessing look over the rearview mirror, as they go crashing through the underbrush that can scarcely be labeled a path.

“DETIA let us know you went missing,” he says blankly, but there’s a furious note to his voice.

“Assholes,” Zach growls, squeezing Woody’s hand again. “Aren’t they supposed to be, like, supersoldiers? Fucking useless.”

“But…” Woody trails off, giving them all a wild look.

“Since they were just fiddling their thumbs,” Herman speaks up, pressed firmly against his side, “we decided to take matters into our own hands.”

“But,” Woody starts again, turning to face his best friend, and there’s a pang in his chest. “Weren’t you in New York?”

He knows, of course he knows, all of their schedules long since bookmarked on the Helmet’s interface. What is he doing all the way back over… well, here, in the middle of nowhere?

The other three exchange a long, grim look.

“You were _kidnapped_ ,” Herman emphasizes, hand falling on his shoulder and shaking him lightly.

“But protocol states-” Woody begins, dazedly, only to be interrupted again.

“Dude, fuck protocol. Fuck DETIA. We’re a fucking team, got it?” Zach spits, and his grip on his hand is too tight. It feels good, in a weird way.

 

This is a fact: Woody is stupid.

He should know, he’s all about facts these days. Barely understanding the concepts he _knows_ on a subconscious level, and feeling even stupider for not getting it. But that’s okay. It’s okay to be stupid.

He was stupid about this, too, and his team came for him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be welcome! And feel free to chat me up at my [tumblr](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com) or [sideblog](http://funfahcts.tumblr.com)


End file.
